


Stroopwafel

by RollingPeaches



Series: Get Shot and Fuckin' Die [4]
Category: Sand Castle (2017)
Genre: F/M, I don't think, No Warnings, Reece is mentioned, another phone call, eventually we're gonna get to them actually existing in the same country
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 00:49:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19897147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RollingPeaches/pseuds/RollingPeaches
Summary: Syverson receives his next care package from Detective Lane and comes to a realization.





	1. Chapter 1

Syverson received the care package about two weeks later. He sliced into it, on top, was a newspaper clipping. His brows furrowed and he scanned it. There was a picture, of someone, a woman, carrying a much larger man. The Headline read, _Detective Leads the Way to Equality_. Hand written across the article, in somewhat practical, a little sloppy, and a hint of girly was, _For Fuck’s Sake_. Lane, it was Lane carrying Reece. Tiny little Lane. Reece looked to be about his own build, it was impressive.

He snorted a laugh, and set the article to the side. Then thought better of it and pinned it against the board at his back, he was keeping it, even if the headline was stupid. Beneath the article was not just grape Kool-Aid as he had expected. There was her favorite, the blue-raspberry, as well as powdered lemonade, powdered sweet tea, instant coffee, powdered creamer, and tea bags. In addition to the drinks, were weird cookies to probably go along with the coffee and tea.

He grabbed the phone and glanced to the clock, it was about 1pm there. He called anyway.

“Detective Lane,” she sounded better than the last time he’d call.

“The hell is a stroopwafel?” He asked out.

“It’s like a thin waffle sandwich, with a kinda caramel sauce put in the middle. Put it over a cup of hot coffee or tea for a couple seconds, it’s ooey gooey deliciousness.”

“Hm,” he grunted out, inspecting it.

“Shit,” she muttered, “Hold on,” followed by an exasperated, “ _Stop_ calling me.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, “The stupid reporter won’t stop calling me. Can you believe the stupid article?” she asked, “I’m not leading the way to anything except the fucking ambulance.”

He laughed slightly, “I’m keeping it,” he stated.

“What?” she asked.

“Proud of you,” that was definitely bashful, but she sounded so flustered on the other end, that he got away with it.

“I-you, uhm…thanks?”

His lips turned up slightly. “How’s Reece?” he asked, cutting her a break.

“Health wise, he’s good. Alexis, his wife, is driving him crazy, he wants to come back to work.”

“When’s he cleared?”

“I think two more weeks?”

“You get the guys who did it?”

“Well, uni’s did, I was at the hospital with Reece. People are stupid. We were there to ask about the murder they witnessed, and they thought we were gonna take their four pot plants in the back of their town house. Now they’ve got attempted murder of police officer to contend with, that was not fucking worth it.”

He wouldn’t wager it was, but people did stupid shit, he was pretty sure that should be the slogan for all mankind.

“You okay?”

“I’m stuck without a partner, means I have to sit around for Grouch or one of the other guys to have a spare second to go out in the field, it’s irritating as hell.”

In other words, she was her normal, sassy, get shit done, self.

“Shit, I gotta take this, it’s the lab.”

“Right.”

The silence stretched on, neither hung up, it was on the cusp of turning awkward, neither knowing how to end the call. “Don’t do anything stupid, Lane,” he reminded

“I take calculated risks, Captain,” she countered, then hung up.

Syverson dropped the phone to the desk and stared down at his box of powdered beverages, hands clenching onto the sides of the box. Shit. _Shit_. He might just love that reckless detective. 


	2. Serial Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jasmine is squinting her way through files when she gets a call.

Jasmine scrunched her eyes closed in an exaggerated blink, then opened them, she’d been combing through files for the past four hours, squinting at serial numbers because _of course_ this business was all paper and hadn’t switched to digital. Her phone rang and she glanced around, slapping her hand down on top of mounds of paper, finally finding it on the last ring.

“Hello?” she answered.

“I’ve changed my opinion. Blue-raspberry is acceptable.”

She grinned slowly, glancing at the time, a few minutes shy of midnight, making it around seven in the morning there.

“You aren’t starting your day with Kool-Aid are you?”

“Nah, I’m starting my day with coffee and a stroopwafel.”

Her smile grew, “You like them?” she asked, voice low and quiet, she was tired and alone at the precinct.

He did like them, it was just, well, they stuck in his beard a bit, he wasn’t inclined to tell her that though, “Yeah.”

“Good,” she murmured, “I’m glad.”

She was tired, that’s why she slipped up and asked, “When’re you going to collect on my owing you for the shower?”

Silence, then, “Why? You nervous, Lane?”

She sputtered indignantly, too tired to come up with a retort. “Isn’t there, a uh, time limit on these things, you know, if a year passes and you haven’t collected, it’s no good?”

“Not sure where you went to school, Lane, but around here, owin’ someone means you _owe_ them.”

“Right, uh-huh, sure.”

“You still workin’?”

“This business hasn’t made the digital shift,” she murmured, staring at the sea of papers in front of her. “I think my eyes have crossed, and I’ve probably dropped a few points on my vision score.”

“Can’t be guns,” he noted.

“No, you’re right. It’s hand crafted knives, you’d think, with the amount of time going into making these things, they’d have better records.”

“You should sleep on it, come back fresh.”

“I’ll probably sleep here at the precinct; don’t think I can keep my eyes open on the road.”

He grunted, it may have been disapproval or it may have been acknowledgement, she couldn’t tell.

“Go to sleep, Lane.”

Her retort was on the tip of her tongue, _don’t tell me what to do_ , but what came out was a soft and breathy, “Have a good day, Sy.”

They hung up and she stared down at the pile of papers. Shit. _Shit_ , she definitely caught feelings for that bossy Captain.


End file.
